


Opium Eyes

by IneffableAlien



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Historical, M/M, Opium, Oral Sex, Ritual Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Jonah’s mouth tastes like flowers.  Even when the stranger’s tongue swipes over his and licks its way past the pillows of his lips, he tastes only flowers.Jonah takes whatever the opium den has to offer.
Relationships: Jonah Magnus/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	Opium Eyes

Jonah’s mouth tastes like flowers. Even when the stranger’s tongue swipes over his and licks its way past the pillows of his lips, he tastes only flowers.

It is a white taste, an ivory taste, not red like the poppies of the smoke. Jonah could not tell you why that esthesis, for what reason he can put a color to the perception. Right now, he could hardly tell you much at all.

He can think, though, in waves at least, and he thinks this: there is music, and he cannot separate out its components. His brain registers that it is playing, and that it makes him happy, but whether that music is made up of brass, or strings, or even a voice, he cannot tell. It is all as one glorious cohesive crystal melting in his ears.

His muscles are differentiated, though. Jonah Magnus believes he can feel every muscle in his body as an independent unit, relaxing into a liquid state one centimeter at a time.

There is a man between Jonah’s prised thighs, and his legs are folded nearly behind his head, rough fingers curled around the backs of his knees and holding him down. Jonah idly wonders if there is a cock inside him, for oddly enough, he is momentarily aware of his ankles rather than anywhere else. He thinks he must somehow be having an orgasm in the bones of his ankles. No—he’s seemingly misplaced the source of his pleasure. Lightning tingles up his calves, then the long lines of him toward his groin …

Ah, there it is. Yes, there is a cock buried deep inside him.

Jonah’s head tips back slowly, senses swirling, eyelids aflutter, and someone somewhere is moaning (he is moaning). His torso is heavy, chest tight and full of bricks, yet his limbs float and beg for someone to arrange them. The man screwing him is glad to oblige, hooking Jonah’s legs over his shoulders so his hands can be free to travel up his flanks, to smooth his arms out above his head and trace the veins in his wrists as Jonah’s fingers flex of their own accord.

The room has been darkened for a while now, but Jonah is experienced enough with the drug to know that this is only in his mind. But Jonah always wants to see, even now, so he struggles weakly to lift his gaze to try to take in the man moving over him. It is an exercise in futility; the man is nothing more than a shadowy silhouette outlined in absinthe-green, green like Jonah’s eyes, green like the light in Jonah’s dreams.

The man fucks him fully, drawing completely out of him until he pops past Jonah’s rim, then slowly sheathing himself back to the hilt. He catches Jonah peering up at him, perhaps mistakes this for Jonah coming around enough to not want to be getting raped on a couch in an opium den, and he kisses Jonah’s slack mouth and gently shushes in his ear. “It’s all right,” the man whispers in promise, “you’re all right, you love it …”

Jonah doesn’t need to be told. He wouldn’t doll himself up and get himself so uselessly high if he didn’t want someone—or many someones—to bend him in half and _make_ him useful.

But Jonah Knows without trying that this man is excited by the thought that Jonah wasn’t wanting this, so in a moment of awareness he rewards his supporting actor with tiny distressed noises, as he nuzzles pathetically against his chin.

That last part, the need to cuddle close, is not so much an act. Jonah has always sought solace in the things that hurt him.

The man pulls out, and Jonah mewls at the pounding emptiness until he realizes he is merely being pushed onto his side and then on his stomach. He thinks he maybe hears himself sigh as the man spreads his legs obscenely into a wide _V_ before positioning himself closer behind him. A spit-slicked thumb tugs his hole gaping, and the man slides his prick in alongside it.

Jonah rubs his cheek around the red velvet cushion beneath him until he feels long fingers twisting his curly hair up into a handle and lifting. The man behind him is gripping both sides of his ass with his fingernails, holding him apart as he increases speed drilling into him. Suddenly there is another cock in Jonah’s line of vision, and his mouth opens expectantly.

Jonah is in his head, drifting up and away from his body, as the man in front of him drifts in and out over his drooling tongue. There is euphoria at last inside his mind, never there when sober, where existential anxiety is constantly waiting to seize him. Wiry hair tickles his nose and he sputters from the man bottoming out in his throat. An elegant hand reaches below to dance fingers across his neck.

Does it please Beholding? Jonah thinks it must, his very flesh no more than padding around a submissive vessel, a thing to pour in thoughts and visions and hot ejaculate. He wiggles, giving a pleased purr around the jutting stiffness that would be gagging him if he weren’t already stupidly stoned and fucked out.

“That’s right,” the man behind him grits out, his movements starting to stutter, “take it, just like that …”

And it is Jonah’s master that takes it all in.

**Author's Note:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
